


A Shopping Cart of Memories

by AgtSpooky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-14
Updated: 2009-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:10:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgtSpooky/pseuds/AgtSpooky
Summary: Set four days after the end of the Pilot – with grief, guilt, love and hurt wrapped around them, can Sam and Dean find their way back to one another and start the healing process?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** This one is for dairwendan, who gave me the prompt of “Dean buys Sam clothes”. It’s taken me forever to write this – I hope it’s worth the wait, sweetie! And many thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, charityflint, for making my stories better.

**Title** : A Shopping Cart of Memories

 **Author** : [**agt_spooky**](http://agt-spooky.livejournal.com/)

 **Pairing** : Sam/Dean

 **Rating** : NC-17

 **Word Count** : 9,390

 **Warnings** : Wincest, underage (Sam is 17 in the flashback)

 **Spoilers** : Pilot, A Very Supernatural Christmas

 **Disclaimer** : I donÕt own them, moreÕs the pity. Just borrowing!

 **AuthorÕs Notes** : This one is for [**dairwendan**](http://dairwendan.livejournal.com/), who gave me the prompt of ÒDean buys Sam clothesÓ. ItÕs taken me forever to write this r11; I hope itÕs worth the wait, sweetie! And many thanks, as always, to my amazing beta, [**charityflint**](http://charityflint.livejournal.com/), for making my stories better.

 

 **Summary** : Set four days after the end of the Pilot r11; with grief, guilt, love and hurt wrapped around them, can Sam and Dean find their way back to one another and start the healing process?

 

 

 

 

**A Shopping Cart of Memories**

By AgtSpooky

 

January 5, 2009

 

 

 

Dean Winchester stood at the foot of the motel bed and looked down at the still form of his sleeping younger brother. TheyÕd returned to their room just a few minutes ago, and Sam had collapsed upon the bed, finally succumbing to both physical and emotional exhaustion.

 

Jessica Moore had been buried today.

 

The empty coffin had been lowered into the ground four days after Jessica had been killed, pinned to the ceiling of the apartment she shared with Sam, both he and Dean powerless to save her from the same creature that had taken the life of their mother in the same way, twenty-two years ago.

 

Sam had been an emotionless shell since that night, closed off, barely speaking, eating only when Dean forced him to, and sleep r11; well, that had been pretty much non-existent, between the nightmares and the endless hours of research slumped over the laptop, SamÕs entire focus on finding _any_ clue as to what had taken the life of his girlfriend.

 

Dean had poured through JohnÕs journal, scouring the pages for any information his father had collected over the years, but the entries were sometimes so disjointed, thoughts and theories randomly scribbled down, that none of it made any sense.

 

He and Sam had combed through the wreckage of the apartment, the arson investigator having declared it an electrical fire that started in the bedroom, but the fire had ravaged it, destroying everything. Just like their father, they could find no trace of the creature that was systematically destroying their family, their frustration almost a tangible thing as each day went by.

 

Two days ago Sam received a phone call from JessicaÕs parents, informing him of the funeral plans. Shortly thereafter he left the motel without a word, returning well into the night, smelling of smoke and alcohol. He refused to speak to Dean, instead sitting in one of the motel chairs, staring out the window. Dean found him still sitting there the next morning.

 

The funeral was held at a small cemetery in Palo Alto, where Sam and Dean stood well away from the rest of the mourners, in the shade of a large tree. SamÕs face was a stone mask, and Dean knew it belied the crushing guilt Sam carried on his shoulders; which is why he wasnÕt there with the other mourners r11; JessicaÕs parents, his friends r11; he blamed himself for JessicaÕs death and couldnÕt face them.

 

Nor could he grieve, either. Besides the single tear that fell that night at the trunk of the Impala, Sam had yet to express any emotion regarding JessicaÕs death. It wasnÕt healthy, and Dean was afraid of the breakdown, when it came, from keeping his grief bottled up for so long.

 

The moment the graveside service ended, Sam was walking away, back toward the car without a word, a silent presence in the passenger seat the entire way back to the motel. Dean was about to ask if Sam wanted him to run out and get any food when his brother had slumped down onto the bed facing away from him, still fully clothed, and was asleep within minutes.

 

Dean was going to take advantage of this rare opportunity, needing to do something for his brother because Sam just didnÕt seem to care, lost in his world of pain and grief.

 

Sam had lost _everything_ in the fire. Every single personal possession he had. All he had were the clothes on his back r11; gym shoes, jeans, a lightweight tan jacket, a thin hoodie, boxers, socks and a blue t-shirt that had five holes in it from where the angry spirit of Constance Welch had tried to rip out SamÕs heart.

 

His brother was so intent on finding the thing that killed Jessica that things like clean clothes, a toothbrush, a comb r11; just basic necessities, didnÕt even register to him.

 

Dean had dug around in his duffel bags and come up with a t-shirt of his that was a little too big on him, and also one of JohnÕs that had gotten mixed up with DeanÕs things, and Sam had been wearing those, along with borrowed boxers and socks. The jeans Dean could unfortunately do nothing about, as his younger brother had surpassed him in height years before. The motel they were at actually had complementary toiletry items, so Dean had at least gotten him a razor, toothbrush and comb.

 

But Sam needed things of his own, and Dean had an unused credit card in his wallet and the overwhelming need to take care of his little brother, like heÕd been doing his whole life. So with the hope that Sam would at least sleep long enough for Dean to go shopping, he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, stopping just long enough to scribble a note for his brother in case he did wake up and wonder where Dean had gone.

 

With a last look at SamÕs sleeping form, even now starting to move restlessly after only a few minutes asleep, Dean sighed and opened the door, wishing that he could turn back time and prevent this nightmare. As hard as it was, seeing Sam with Jessica that night, heÕd rather be alone and know his brother was happy, than here with him now, in so much pain that DeanÕs own heart was breaking.

 

~~~~~

 

Dean grabbed a cart inside the local super mart, his boots squeaking on the tile floor, one of the wheels rattling on the cart, as he steered it toward the first section he saw r11; personal care r11; dodging a woman with a stroller and a screaming child and a stock boy listlessly refilling the paper towel section.

 

He thought this would be quick r11; grab some toiletries and shirts and jeans for Sam and be done, but Dean was thrown off track the minute he turned down the first aisle with the shampoo and soap, and spotted a familiar yellow bottle on the shelf r11; baby shampoo.

 

He couldnÕt stop himself from reaching out and taking the bottle down, memory flooding through him as he flipped open the cap. HeÕd been feeling off kilter being around his brother again after so many years, and thoughts of Sam had been at the forefront of DeanÕs mind for the last week, so it was no wonder this childhood memory came so easily to him with the scent of baby shampooÉ

 

_November 1st, 1983. The last day of normal that four year-old Dean ever knew, before his mother was ripped away from him in blood and fire._

_It was lunchtime at the WinchesterÕs r11; always an adventure with two young children, and today was no different._

_ÒDo it again, Sammy!Ó Dean giggled as his tiny younger brother batted at the spoonful of baby food Mary was holding out, splattering the strained peas all over himself and the highchair for the third time._

_Dean clapped and Sammy squealed, his hands running through the mess on the highchair before smearing it on his head, a smile on his small face._

_Mary looked at Dean in playful exasperation. ÒWill you stop encouraging him?Ó_

_But Dean just smiled at his mother as little Sammy reached out a baby food covered hand toward his big brother._

_ÒHe smells, Mommy!Ó_

_Mary laughed as she put the lid back on the peas. ÒYou would, too, if you had vegetables all over you. Want to help me give your brother a bath?Ó_

_A short time later Dean stood on a small stool next to his mother at the kitchen sink, baby Sammy giggling, hands splashing playfully in the water as Mary rinsed the baby shampoo from his soft, fine hair._

_ÒThat better, sweetie?Ó Mary asked Dean._

_Dean leaned in toward his little brother and took a sniff, then turned to his mother, smiling and nodding. ÒNow he smells good!Ó_

 

 

Dean closed his eyes, sighing sadly at childhoods lost, putting the yellow bottle back on the shelf before grabbing another for Sam and putting it in the cart.

 

The razors were next, and as Dean picked one up, he was again overtaken with a memory, this one making him smileÉ

 

_Sixteen year-old Dean stood in front of the mirror in the motel bathroom, carefully running the razor across his face, catching a glimpse of his twelve year-old brother lurking in the doorway, watching intently. For the fourth morning in a row._

_Dean lowered the razor, swishing it in the water in the sink, cocking his head toward Sammy. ÒWhatcha doinÕ, Sam?Ó_

_Sam shrugged his thin shoulders. ÒNothinÕ. Just watching.Ó_

_DeanÕs mouth quirked in a grin, remembering watching John shave when he was about that age. ÒJust watching, huh? Wanna learn?Ó_

_SamÕs eyebrows drew together. ÒHuh?Ó_

_ÒWell, youÕre gonna be sprouting hair all over in another year or so, and while the girls like to look at a guy with stubble, theyÕd rather youÕd be clean shaven when you kiss Ôem,Ó Dean smirked._

_Sam looked horrified. ÒEww! Cooties!Ó_

_Dean laughed and shook his head. ÒTrust me when I say youÕll be changing your mind in another couple years. Now cÕmere and lemme show you.Ó_

_Sam pushed away from the doorframe and went to stand next to his big brother at the sink, taking the washcloth Dean offered him._

_ÒOkay, first thing you do is get the washcloth wet with hot water,Ó Dean instructed Sam. ÒThen wash your face off.Ó_

_Sam did as he was told, then Dean handed him the can of shaving cream._

_ÒNow squirt just a little bit of that in your hand and start smearing it on your face.Ó_

_ÒWhoa!Ó Sam exclaimed as he pressed the button and more came out than he was expecting._

_Dean chuckled and took the can away. ÒYeah, thatÕs plenty. YouÕre gonna end up looking like Santa Claus, Sammy.Ó_

_As his younger brother covered his face with the white foam, Dean reached into his toiletry bag and took out a razor that hadnÕt been used in a long time r11; the one that John had taught Dean to shave with, the older son just never able to part with it. And now he was glad he hadnÕt._

_ÒGood job,Ó Dean said, removing the blade from the razor as Sam finished soaping his face and rinsed his hand off._

_Dean handed his brother the spare razor. ÒWatch what I do,Ó he told Sam, slowly running his own razor down his face several times, then upwards under his neck and chin, Sam watching him intently yet again._

_Face clean, Dean wiped it off with a towel then gestured at Sam. ÒOkay, little brother. Now your turn.Ó_

_Sam nodded, bringing the harmless razor up to his face and perfectly imitated what Dean had shown him r11; slow swipe, rinse, repeat, until his face was clean and he was smiling at Dean._

_Dean grinned back, nodding his head. ÒNot bad, Sammy. A little more practice and youÕll be ready for the real thing.Ó_

_Sam gave him a small smile and ducked his head. ÒThanks, Dean. For showing me.Ó_

_Dean shrugged, knocking Sam with his shoulder, trying for nonchalant at the complement that warmed him. ÒThatÕs my job, right? Show my little brother the ropes?Ó_

_And show him he did. It became their morning ritual for quite sometime after that, standing next to one another at the sink, Sam practicing as Dean shaved for real, talking about school and cars, flicking shaving cream at one another._

_Dean came to look forward to those mornings with Sam, who was changing right before his eyes from a kid into a young man, forced to grow up too soon, frequently angry with John and their nomadic lifestyle. He hated to see SamÕs childhood disappearing far more rapidly than it shouldÕve been because of the life they lived, so goofing around with Sam as they stood at the sink, seeing his brother smile and laughÉhe was glad for that time, and thankful that Sam had chosen to watch him shave and not John, who wouldÕve treated it like a military drill and not the bonding time it shouldÕve been. He knew from experience._

_A year or so later, this time it was Dean lurking in the bathroom doorway, watching as Sam really, truly shaved for the first time r11; and he did it perfectly. Not a single nick._

_Sam gave him a crooked grin in the mirror, lowering the razor as Dean smiled and nodded, murmuring, ÒThatÕs my boy.Ó_

 

 

DeanÕs thumb rubbed over the razorÕs handle as he came back to himself, still smiling softly as he put it in the cart, then added a pack of blades as well before turning to leave the personal care section. But as he passed by the next aisle he added something as a joke that he hoped would make his brother smile r11; bubblegum flavored toothpaste and a bright pink toothbrush.

 

He had to pass by the sporting goods section on his way to the shoes and couldnÕt help but catch a glimpse of boxes of Winchester ammunition on a shelf behind the glass counter, along with several handguns. DeanÕs face hardened as he slowed to look at the weapons. This time the memory wasnÕt so pleasantÉ

 

 

_ÒOkay, son, now hold your arms out straight, both your hands tight on the grip,Ó John instructed young Dean, crouched down behind him in an open field._

_But the six year-old let the pistol fall to his side. ÒItÕs too heavy, Dad,Ó Dean complained. ÒI donÕt wanna do this.Ó_

_John took his son by the shoulders and turned Dean to face him. ÒYou listen to me, son. You **need** to learn how to do this. There are bad things out there, Dean. Things that want to hurt people. IÕm not here all the time, so I need to know you can protect your brother. Do you understand?Ó_

_ÒSammy? Something wants to hurt Sammy?Ó Dean asked, panicked._

_ÒMaybe,Ó John answered him. ÒYou donÕt want that to happen, do you?Ó_

_Dean quickly shook his head. ÒNo!Ó_

_ÒThen you need to learn to shoot this gun, Dean. You have to keep Sammy safe,Ó John told him, voice hard, turning Dean back around to face the rock with the empty soda can on it. ÒDonÕt let me down, son. IÕm counting on you.Ó_

_Terrified with the knowledge that his baby brother could be taken from him just like his mother if he didnÕt do this, Dean lifted the pistol without hesitation, wavering for just a second under the weight before pulling the trigger._

_The noise was deafening to small ears, and Dean staggered from the recoil, stumbling into John, who caught him with a hand on his back. Dean was breathing hard, shaking a little, turning back to look at his father when John pointed out in front of him. The soda can was gone._

_JohnÕs hand fell heavily on his small shoulder. ÒYou made me proud, son.Ó_

_His fatherÕs praise meant everything to Dean, dispelling his nervousness and fear. He could do this. He wouldnÕt let his father down. He would protect his brother._

_And that had been the moment when his childhood had been truly lost r11; the moment he pulled that trigger for the first time, propelling him down the road of soldier, hunterÉprotector._

_And protect Sam he did, keeping the darkness of what their life was from him until that fateful Christmas Eve night when Sam was eight years old._

_He shouldÕve known his brother would figure it out. Sam was smarter than any kid his age that Dean knew. Still, it was the hardest thing Dean had done, confirming SamÕs suspicions about what their father did, what he hunted._

_SamÕs innocence had suffered a crack that night, when he found out monsters were real, but it had completely shattered one year later, when John put a gun in his youngest sonÕs hands for the first time._

_At least he had been three years older than Dean had been. At least heÕd protected his brotherÕs childhood for longer than he thought he could; gave him years of playing t-ball and soccer and school plays and science fairs. Years of just being a kid without having to worry that evil things were out there in the night, ready to hurt him and his family._

 

 

Dean blew out a breath, blinking back the memory, looking at the Winchester ammunition, wondering if their last name had fated them to live the life they did. 

 

Or if they were simply cursed.

 

With a heavy heart Dean walked away from the weapons, pointing his cart in the direction of the shoe department. All Sam had was a pair of gym shoes, and if they were heading into the Colorado wilderness next, on the trail of their missing father, heÕd need something more sturdy.

 

Dean had to walk through the boys shoes to get to the menÕs department, when a small pair of shoes caught his eye. He stopped, picking up the red, white and blue shoe with a small picture of Superman on it, suddenly thinking about heroesÉ

 

_Young boys grew quickly, and Sam and Dean were always outgrowing something. This time it was six year-old Sam in need of new shoes. So John had left him and ten year-old Dean in the shoe department while he shopped for things elsewhere in the store._

_The boys walked up and down the aisle, surveying the choices in SamÕs size. There were shoes that blinked when you walked and shoes with Spiderman, the Hulk and Batman on them as well._

_ÒI need to go get socks, Sammy, so hurry up and pick,Ó Dean told his little brother impatiently. ÒWhich superhero do you want?Ó_

_Little Sammy looked at all the gym shoes and then shook his head, nudging his toe against DeanÕs foot. ÒI want boots like yours, Dean.Ó_

_DeanÕs forehead furrowed, looking down at his brown, non-descript, scuffed up boots. ÒWhy would you want something boring like these when you can have Batman?Ó he questioned his brother._

_ÒÔCause **youÕre** my hero, Dean,Ó Sam said simply, like it was totally obvious and why didnÕt Dean know this?_

_Taken off guard, Dean could only blink at his little brother. ÒWhat r11; what do you mean? IÕm not a hero.Ó_

_ÒYeah, you are,Ó Sam told him, then pointed at the cartoon characters on the shoes. ÒThey help people and keep them safe and so do you. You tie my shoes and make me lunch and walk me to school, and if IÕm scared you make me feel better. You always do stuff for me. DadÕs never here, but you are.Ó Sammy smiled, reaching up to take DeanÕs hand. ÒSo, can I get boots like yours?Ó_

_Dean swallowed hard, never realizing how much his little brother looked up to him. Doing all of those things for Sammy was second nature for him. He squeezed SamÕs hand. ÒYeah,Ó he said quietly, smiling softly at his brother. ÒYeah, you can get boots like mine.Ó_

 

 

Saddened that he was unable to live up to SamÕs expectations of him, unable to save him from the tragedy of JessicaÕs death, Dean quickly found a pair of boots in his brotherÕs size and added them to the cart, hoping one day heÕd be able to earn back his heroÕs status in his brotherÕs eyes.

 

The menÕs clothing department was DeanÕs last stop. He rolled the cart down the first aisle, snagging several packs of socks and tossing them into the cart, along with several solid colored boxers, grinning when he saw that one of them was redÉ

 

 

_Doing laundry was not something high on the list of priorities for the Winchester men, usually only accomplished when someone complained about the smell of unwashed clothes or if someone was laid up from an injury and they had some downtime._

_This time it was seventeen year-old Dean doing the recuperating from a hairline fracture of his ankle, sustained when the werewolf hunt he was on with his father went sideways._

_An injured Dean meant a cranky, irritable Dean who hated being cooped up, lying in bed. But worse, it meant a bored Dean. And nothing good ever came out of Dean with too much time on his hands, looking to amuse himself._

_Just ask his thirteen year-old brother, who had ended up with Nair in his shampoo yesterday morning._

_After that, John decided that if Dean was well enough to have hobbled down to the motel office on his crutches to flirt with the young girl at the desk to get the Nair, he was well enough to help Sam with the laundry, while he went on an ammunition supply run._

_So he drove the boys down the street to the laundromat and dropped them off, helping Sam carry in all their dirty clothes, the detergent and the stain remover, which they always bought in the biggest bottle possible._

_Dean and Sam started sorting the clothes after John left, Sam pulling out all the whites while Dean tackled the clothes with various dirt, grass and blood stains. He was still going at it when Sam started the wash cycle for the whites, then started putting the clothes in another washer that Dean had doused with the stain remover._

_A short time later Sam was humming to himself, with a bit of a smirk on his face as the brothers sat down next to one another on the hard plastic chairs to wait for their wash to finish. DeanÕs eyes kept flicking over to him as he tried to concentrate on the car magazine he was reading._

_ÒDude, whatÕs up with you?Ó he finally asked._

_ÒHuh?Ó Sam stopped humming, an innocent look now on his face. ÒNothinÕ, why?Ó_

_Dean gave him a sideways look, not believing him. ÒJustÉstop with the humming, okay?Ó_

_Sam smiled and nodded. ÒSure, Dean, sorry. You want me to get you a Coke out of the machine?Ó_

_Okay, now something was definitely up. Sam had been glaring daggers at him ever since the Nair incident yesterday, pissed as hell at DeanÕs idea of a joke that forced him to wear a baseball hat today, not having spoken a word to Dean. Now he was apologizing and offering to get something for him?_

_ÒUm, sure, thanks,Ó Dean said warily, watching as Sam popped up out of the chair with a grin, heading for the vending machines._

_As Sam passed their washers he called back over his shoulder at Dean._

_ÒHey, the whites are done. Help me put them in the dryers?Ó_

_ÒYeah, okay,Ó Dean answered, levering himself up out of the chair, forgoing the unwieldy crutches and instead just hopping over to the washing machines._

_ÒI had to split them up into two loads,Ó Sam explained as he returned with a can of Coke. ÒYours are in that one and mine and DadÕs are in this one,Ó he finished with a barely restrained smile, lifting the lid of his machine._

_Again confused at SamÕs odd behavior, Dean shook his head as he lifted the lid of his own machineÉthen stared, uncomprehending, at what he saw inside._

_Pink._

_Every single item of white clothing that Dean owned r11; socks, t-shirts, underwear r11; was now a startling shade of pink._

_ÒWhat theÉ?Ó Dean reached inside, pulling out a piece of dark red fabric, immediately identifying it as his younger brotherÕs brand new, never-been-washed-before red boxers, just as Sam started howling with laughter._

_ÒGot you good, Dean!Ó_

_Dean reached for his scheming little brother, but Sam danced back out of the way, heading for the door of the laundromat, knowing that Dean couldnÕt chase after him, laughing all the way._

_ÒSam!Ó_

_The prank wars had begun._

 

 

Dean chuckled to himself as the red boxers joined the pile in the cart, remembering that he and Sam had driven John to exasperation as they tried to one up each other, until finally calling a truce a week later.

 

Moving out of the socks and underwear section, Dean turned the corner into the main part of the menÕs clothing area, racks and shelves spread out before him r11; and froze, suddenly overwhelmed with all of the choices. Sam needed everything and he realized he didnÕt even know where to start, until he spied the soft, chocolate brown hoodie with the black lining, hanging on the end of a rack.

 

Dean stepped forward, running the material between his fingers, and it reminded him of the soft blue blanket Sam had as a baby, the one he was wrapped in when Dean carried him out of their burning house. God, how Dean wished he could just wrap Sam up in this hoodie and it would make everything better, like he did with little Sammy and the blanketÉ

 

 

_The sound of crying pulled four year-old Dean from his fitful sleep and he blinked open his eyes, momentarily disoriented, thinking he was in his own room. But as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized that no, he was on a small mattress on the floor of a room in a house of someone he didnÕt know._

_He glanced up at the big bed, not seeing his daddy, just as he heard voices from the other room. His daddy was speaking to someone, sounding angry. He sounded like that all the time now. Since Mommy went away._

_Pushing the blanket off of himself, Dean stood on the mattress and leaned over the portable crib next to him, reaching his hand down to touch his crying little brother._

_ÒShhh...itÕs okay, Sammy,Ó Dean whispered, voice hoarse from infrequent use._

_He hardly spoke anymore, except to his brother and sometimes his daddy, scared and confused by the strange places they were always in, and the people he didnÕt know. His mommy had always told him never to speak to strangers, so he kept quiet, withdrawn; except around his brother, of whom he was fiercely protective of, rarely straying from his side. He had already lost his mommy, and his daddy kept leaving for days at a time. So **no one** was taking his brother from him. Sammy was basically all he had left._

_Hoisting himself up over the rail of the crib, Dean carefully dropped down beside his little brother. Picking up the soft blue baby blanket from where Sammy had kicked it off, Dean covered his brother back up, then lay down beside him. He softly rubbed his hand on SammyÕs tummy, like heÕd seen Mommy do when Sammy was fussy._

_ÒDonÕt cry, Sammy,Ó Dean whispered. ÒItÕs okayÉDonÕt be scaredÉÓ_

_Sammy quieted at DeanÕs soft, reassuring voice and touch and Dean smiled at his little brother as SammyÕs tears stopped. The infant reached down and grabbed DeanÕs small finger, holding tight, smiling back before yawning._

_Dean found himself yawning as well, eyes slipping shut shortly after his little brotherÕs, both of them sleeping through the rest of the night, soothed by the closeness of one another._

_For just a little while they felt safe in their scary new life, side by side._

 

 

Dean had read JohnÕs thoughts about this in his journal, about always finding Dean in SammyÕs crib. John thought that Dean was trying to protect his brother from whatever was out there in the dark, and once they started sharing a bed, both of them always slept through the night.

 

Dean put the brown hoodie in the cart, saddened once again that he had failed to protect Sam from whatever was out there in the dark, targeting their family for reasons still unknown.

 

He began moving through the racks of clothing, selecting several pairs of jeans, plain t-shirts in various colors and long sleeve button down shirts that Sam could mix and match. It felt good to be taking care of his brother again. ItÕd been four, long years since heÕd been able to do this. Four years since heÕd even seen Sam, two years since heÕd even talked to him r11; a disastrous drunken phone call Dean had made on his own birthday, mad and hurt and missing his brother.

 

Dean paused when he passed by a rack of novelty t-shirts, reminding him of the crazy ones he used to buy for Sam as a joke whenever he saw one at a thrift store. He began flipping through them, hoping to find one that would put a smile back on his brotherÕs face.

 

He passed by shirts about drinking and sex, nothing jumping out at him as appropriate for Sam until he got almost to the end of the rack, and then he froze for a long heartbeat before pulling the shirt off, holding it up before him.

 

Marvin the Martian.

 

His breath catching in his throat, Dean sat down heavily on the shelf behind him, knocking several pairs of jeans to the floor.

 

God, it looked just like the oneÉ

 

 

_After 1983, birthdays, and holidays in general, didnÕt mean all that much to the Winchester men. On the road, hunting, days blended into days, and turning another year older was sometimes forgotten in the midst of putting a malevolent spirit to rest. Not to mention that when they were kids, it was hard to have a birthday party with your friends when you lived in a motel room, or were renting a run-down piece of crap apartment. Never mind trying to explain why there was no parental supervision, either._

_While John was usually too preoccupied to notice, it never escaped DeanÕs attention how wistful Sam became when he was invited to a classmateÕs party, knowing heÕd never have one of his own, so Dean did his best to always give Sam some sort of gift, no matter how small or cheap, on his birthday._

_And SamÕs 16th was no exception._

_A few days before his younger brotherÕs birthday, Dean was in a thrift shop looking for boots for himself when he stumbled upon the perfect gift for Sam._

_Growing up, Sam was never into Superman or Spiderman like Dean loved Batman. No, his geek brother thought Marvin the Martian was the greatest. Sam even practiced talking like Marvin, making Dean laugh no matter what kind of crappy mood he was in._

_So when Dean found the Marvin shirt at the thrift store, he couldnÕt wait to see SamÕs face when he gave it to him two days from then._

_~~~~_

_Dean blinked open sleep-heavy eyes in the early morning hours of May 2nd, soft light just beginning to filter in the window of their cramped Nebraska apartment. It was quiet, John having left for Oklahoma two days before, and Sam was still asleep in the bed across from his, bare-chested, long legs tangled in the sheet._

_And once again Dean had to look away from his brotherÕs half-dressed body, trying unsuccessfully to push down thoughts and feelings that heÕd been experiencing more frequently lately. Thoughts that left him shaken, but with an underlying current of desire that he was finding harder to ignore._

_Needing to distract himself, Dean reached under his bed, fingers searching until they closed around SamÕs birthday gift, wrapped in the comics from SundayÕs paper. He pulled it out, and in one continuous motion, threw it at his brotherÕs head._

_Sam startled awake instantly, body jerking as Dean let out a laugh at his brotherÕs confused expression._

_ÒWhat the **hell** , Dean?Ó Sam cursed, voice raspy, pinning Dean with a murderous glare._

_Dean pointed at the package. ÒHappy birthday, bitch.Ó_

_SamÕs expression softened immediately and he wasted no time in tearing open the gift, a laugh escaping him as soon as he saw Marvin._

_ÒOh my god, Dean, where did you find this?Ó_

_ÒI have my sources,Ó Dean joked. ÒSo, umÉyou like it?Ó_

_Sam lowered the black shirt, his smile warm and bright, that certain look he only used when he was around Dean, and Dean felt that flutter in his stomach once again as Sam said softly, ÒI love it. Thanks, Dean.Ó_

_The moment hung there, suspended in the morning light, hazel eyes locked with green, and DeanÕs fingers clenched on his blanket before he cleared his throat and looked away, climbing from his bed._

_ÒGet your ass up, Sammy. We got somewhere to be this morning.Ó_

_Sam cocked his head. ÒWhere?Ó_

_Dean picked up a key off his nightstand and flicked it at Sam, watching as realization crossed his younger brotherÕs features._

_ÒTime you got your license, dude.Ó_

_~~~~_

_After a breakfast of SamÕs favorite chocolate chip pancakes, they set off in the Impala to the DMV. Sam was in the driverÕs seat, learnerÕs permit tucked in his back pocket, happily wearing his new Marvin the Martian shirt, a smile on his face._

_As expected, Sam passed his driverÕs test with flying colors, since both he and Dean had been taught to drive by John as soon as their legs reached the pedals. Still, this was a right of passage for Sam, and he came back out into the waiting room beaming, his new license in his hand._

_Proud of his brother, Dean threw his arm around SamÕs shoulders as he held up the piece of plastic that made him legal. ÒWell what are we waiting for? LetÕs go for a ride, Sammy!Ó_

_The younger Winchester laughed and threw open the door of the sleek, black Chevy, picked the first road heading out of town and hit the gas._

_~~~~_

_The miles flew by under the tires of the Impala as Sam just drove and drove, the wind whipping in through the open windows, the sun shining brightly overhead, music blasting from the speakers. DriverÕs choice, of course._

_They drove until their stomachs demanded food, Sam stopping at a roadside diner where they sat on the trunk of the car eating greasy burgers, fries and chocolate shakes till they thought theyÕd burst._

_Then it was back on the road until after the sun had set, when Sam pulled off on the side of the road, out in the middle of nowhere, no other cars in sight. They climbed out of the car and up onto the hood to just look at the stars, Sam pointing out the constellations one by one._

_As the sound of SamÕs voice washed over him, Dean realized that this was one of the best days of his life, just being able to be with Sam like this, watching him so happy and carefree, the two of them simply brothers for a day, instead of hunters, soldiers. Sam had been so distant lately, unhappy, fighting with John at the drop of a hat, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Dean missed their closeness, and today heÕd gotten it back._

_He looked over at Sam as his brother looked up at the sky and marveled at how much Sam had changed over the past year. He was taller than Dean now, all traces of baby fat gone with their rigorous training, his body lean with muscle, his hair touching his collar in defiance of their father, his face more serious these days than Dean would like. Sam was no longer a child but truly a young man now._

_That feeling stirred within Dean for the third time that day, deep inside, as he looked at his brotherÕs profile in the moonlight, thoughts and images appearing unbidden in his mind and he swallowed deeply at his bodyÕs sudden reaction to them. Sam picked that moment to turn and look at him, smiling wide and happy and DeanÕs chest clenched at the sight, his fingers aching to reach out and touch his brother._

_Caught off guard, DeanÕs expression must have given something away, and SamÕs smile went soft, almost with understanding, Dean thought, as Sam slid closer to him, their legs touching now. The air suddenly felt charged and Dean could actually sense that somethingÉshifted between the two of them at that moment, that at some point would forever change their relationship. And Dean was both eager and terrified at the thought._

_Sam put his arm around DeanÕs shoulders and leaned in, whispering against DeanÕs ear, ÒBest birthday ever,Ó as Dean closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around his brotherÕs waist._

_~~~~_

_It was exactly one year later, on SamÕs 17th birthday, that they gave in to what had been building between them for 365 days, this forbidden desire._

_The desire that had manifested itself in the form of heated looks and touches that spoke of need and want, and the pounding of hearts scared to cross a line they could never return from, but finding themselves powerless to stop. Not **wanting** to stop._

_Sam had worn the Marvin the Martian shirt constantly for the past year, and he had it on the night of his birthday when he pushed Dean up against the wall of their bedroom and claimed his mouth for a burning kiss._

_All thoughts of Òthis is wrongÓ that Dean had been keeping at the forefront of his mind for the past year fled at the first touch of SamÕs lips against his. He gave in to his brotherÕs passion, gripping SamÕs shoulders so tightly that the threadbare material of the t-shirt tore at the seam._

_It started off frantic, that first time. Noses bumping and teeth clacking. Hands everywhere r11; pulling at clothes until none remained between them. And that first touch of skin on skin, as Dean blanketed his brotherÕs body on the bed, was just as electric as their first kiss._

_They were like starving men, unable to get enough of exploring one anotherÕs bodies with hands and mouths, until they were both shaking, harsh breaths filling the air._

_ÒDeanÉ **God** ,Ó Sam moaned, body arching underneath DeanÕs, his hard cock sliding against DeanÕs own._

_ÒSamÉSamÉÓ Dean whispered brokenly, head spinning, unable to comprehend this was actually happening, that Sam wanted this, too. That Sam wanted **him**._

_But all his doubts were erased when Sam pushed against his shoulders, guiding DeanÕs head down his long body, pleading for Dean to touch him, God, please just touch himÉ_

_And Dean did, moving between SamÕs legs, kissing his way down his brotherÕs strong body, SamÕs hips trying to arch up from the mattress restlessly._

_ÒJesus, SamÉI needÉGod, I need toÉÓ Dean rambled, just before he took the head of his brotherÕs cock in his mouth._

_A harsh, surprised sound escaped from SamÕs lips and one of his hands landed heavily on the back of DeanÕs head, fingers gripping the short strands of DeanÕs hair as Dean started to suck._

_That first, intimate taste of his brother was like nothing Dean had ever experienced, SamÕs cock heavy on his tongue, sucking on the head, drawing more pre-come from the slit and swallowing it down._

_ÒSo good, Sam. Fuck, so good,Ó Dean groaned before opening his mouth again and taking Sam as deeply as he could._

_ÒDean!Ó Sam cried out, throwing his head back against the pillow, eyes squeezed shut as Dean began to bob his head. ÒDonÕt stop, donÕt stopÉÓ_

_Dean hollowed his cheeks and sucked harder, a fresh burst of pre-come hitting his tongue, Sam panting and shaking under him. The sight, sound and taste of his brother falling apart, and the knowledge that he was making it happen, made DeanÕs own cock throb and he ground his hips down hard into the mattress, seeking friction._

_Dean pushed his tongue flat against the bundle of nerves on the underside of SamÕs cock and sucked hard on the head, pulling a deep, wrenching sound from his brother._

_Sam strained against the hold Dean had on his hips, his voice raw and gritty. ÒI wantÉoh God, DeanÉwanna comeÉwant you to make me comeÉ **please** ,Ó he pleaded._

_Feeling his own climax building swiftly, but determined to bring Sam to release first, Dean shifted, releasing one of SamÕs hips to wrap his hand around his brotherÕs cock. It only took two hard, fast strokes before Sam was crying out, back arching as he came._

_Dean let the first stream of SamÕs semen hit his tongue before he pulled off, swallowing down his brotherÕs taste as he looked up, needing to see Sam as he shattered apart._

_And the sight took DeanÕs breath away r11; SamÕs cock pulsing in his hand as his brotherÕs release painted his chest with streaks of white, SamÕs fists clenched in the blankets as his body trembled through his orgasm, legs spread wide, body sheened with sweat, eyes closed, mouth open as he rode the waves of his intense release._

_Watching Sam come was DeanÕs undoing. He released his brotherÕs cock as SamÕs climax subsided, catching the last of the white, thick wetness on his fingers before bringing that hand to his own cock. His eyes drifted closed as he stroked himself hard and fast, his orgasm coiling deep inside, licking up his spineÉ_

_But moments before he wouldÕve come his hand was knocked away and he opened his eyes in surprise to see Sam sitting up, his face flushed, eyes dark with desire._

_ÒNo, let meÉwanna touch you,Ó Sam whispered gruffly, sliding his hands up DeanÕs bare legs, thumbs just brushing DeanÕs balls before SamÕs long fingers curled around his painfully hard cock._

_Dean threw his head back with a deep groan as his brother touched him for the first time, a touch heÕd been dreaming about for over a year. His hips jerked as Sam stroked him, overwhelming sensation coursing through his body and he clutched one of his brotherÕs shoulders with one hand while burying the fingers of the other in SamÕs hair._

_ÒSam,Ó Dean gritted out, on the precipice of release, the feel of his impending orgasm making him shake, but wanting to hold out, make this first time last forever. ÒGodÉ **God** ÉÓ_

_ÒLet go, let go,Ó Sam encouraged, thumbing the slit of DeanÕs cock with one hand, reaching up to cup DeanÕs balls with the other._

_And with a noise that was nearly a sob, Dean did, crushing his mouth to his brotherÕs as he came, letting his climax pulse out from deep within him. He heard Sam gasp into their kiss as DeanÕs release covered his hand and chest and Dean kissed him harder, tongues pushing against one another until they couldnÕt breathe._

_ÒSammyÉSammyÉÓ Dean whispered, light-headed from his intense climax, pulling his brother even closer, feeling Sam clutch at his back, blunt nails against his bare skin._

_They held on to one another as heartbeats quieted, SamÕs breath soft on his face as Dean opened his eyes, looking down between their bodies at the evidence of the line they had crossed. And a cold bead of fear trickled its way down DeanÕs spine._

_Jesus ChristÉwhat had they done?_

_ÒDonÕt.Ó_

_Dean blinked at SamÕs hard voice, his brother gripping his arm tightly._

_ÒDonÕt you dare regret this, Dean,Ó Sam told him firmly, reading his thoughts. ÒI wanted this.Ó Then SamÕs voice gentled, fingers sweeping across DeanÕs skin. ÒI want **you** ,Ó he whispered, leaning in, murmuring against DeanÕs lips. ÒLove you, Dean...Ó_

_Dean closed his eyes, slipping his fingers into SamÕs soft hair, letting his brotherÕs words wash away that tendril of fear with a sigh into their slow kiss. Dean took them down to the mattress, never breaking the kiss, letting himself fall into it, into **Sam** Éright where he belonged._

_It was long moments later when they finally parted, moving away from each other just enough for Sam to snag his ruined t-shirt to clean off their chests and stomachs before resting their foreheads together and drifting off to sleep in each otherÕs arms._

_~~~~~_

_The next twelve months were the happiest of DeanÕs life, in this new relationship with Sam. Stolen kisses in gas station bathrooms, swallowing each otherÕs moans as they made love with their father sleeping in the adjoining motel room, fumbling hand jobs in the woods after a successful hunt._

_As wrong as society would think it was, taking his brother as his lover, Dean knew without a doubt that this was meant to be. HeÕd loved Sam all his life, but now it was more than that, deeper than blood ties._

_Like Sam had told him back when all this started r11; ÒIÕve always loved you, Dean. YouÕve always been the one constant in my life.Ó_

_And Dean thought that would never change, that nothing could ever come between them, ever tear them apart._

_That illusion was shattered during the fourteenth month._

_One hot afternoon in late July, as John and Dean sat at the kitchen table, researching a new hunt and sharpening knives, Sam calmly approached them, laying a letter between them and announced heÕd been accepted to Stanford with a full scholarship and that he was leaving in three weeks._

_Complete silence reigned as shock settled over John and Dean, but then Dean had started to smile, intensely proud of his brother for accomplishing this, but his smile faded and died when he saw the date of the acceptance letter - dated three months prior._

_Hurt and anger slammed into Dean at the knowledge that Sam had been keeping this from him for months. They shared **everything** with one another. Had since they were kids. But something as important as this, his brother had kept from him. **Why?** He could only sit there mute for long minutes as Sam and John immediately started yelling at one another, before standing so suddenly that he knocked his chair over._

_Without a word he strode for the door, snagging the keys to the Impala, ignoring Sam as he called out for him to wait, to let Sam explain._

_They were the last words he would hear from his brother for years._

_DeanÕs phone began ringing minutes after he left but he turned it off and threw it in the backseat, jaw clenched, breathing hard, hands like vises on the steering wheel, SamÕs betrayal reverberating in his head._

_He drove all the way to Blue Earth, to Pastor Jim MurphyÕs place, where he asked their long time family friend for a place to stay. And to JimÕs credit he asked no questions, simply opened his home to Dean and said if Dean wanted to talk, heÕd be there to listen._

_But talking about his feelings was never something Dean excelled at, so instead he drowned them in bottles of Jim, Jack and Jose for the first week he was there. He spent the second week sobering up and the third helping out around JimÕs place and the church, as if driving nails into two by fourÕs could drive out the memory of his brotherÕs touch and betrayal._

_By the time he headed back and turned his phone on there were nearly 40 voice mails, which he deleted without listening to. Sam was gone when Dean arrived at the apartment and he and John never spoke about it again._

_And life went on. Without Sam and with an ache in DeanÕs chest that never went away._

 

 

Without stopping to think or second guess himself, Dean stood and dropped the t-shirt on top of the other clothes and pushed his shopping cart of memories up to the checkout.

 

~~~~~

 

Back at the motel, Dean opened the door to discover that SamÕs bed was empty, the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. He took the opportunity and quickly unpacked everything he had bought, laying everything out on SamÕs bed. HeÕd no more than finished when the bathroom door opened and Sam walked out, dressed only in boxers, his hair still damp.

 

ÒHey, whereÉÓ Sam started but stopped as his eyes fell on the pile of items on his bed, then immediately turned and looked at Dean.

 

Dean shrugged. ÒI justÉpicked up some stuff for youÉÓ he trailed off as Sam walked over to the bed and reached out and touched a pair of the jeans.

 

Dean saw SamÕs jaw tighten as his brother swallowed, trying in vain to hold back a sob that finally broke free at the reminder of all that he had lost, and more. He sank to his knees beside the bed, and Dean immediately dropped down beside him, wrapping an arm around SamÕs shaking shoulders. 

 

Here was the grief that Dean had been waiting for, as Sam turned in the embrace and buried his face in DeanÕs shoulder, hands clutching at DeanÕs shirt as he cried. 

 

What could Dean say? That it was okay, that everything would be all right? It would just be a lie. So instead he simply held Sam tighter and whispered, ÒIÕm here, IÕve got you, let it out, Sam,Ó his own eyes filling with tears at the sight and sound of his brotherÕs grief.

 

Sam cried himself out but didnÕt let go of Dean for a long while, resting his head on DeanÕs shoulder as Dean ran his hand slowly up and down the younger manÕs back. When Sam finally raised his head, his face streaked with tear tracks, his pain filled eyes stabbed right into DeanÕs heart.

 

ÒCÕmon, Sam,Ó Dean said quietly, urging his brother to his feet, turning down the blankets on the other bed. ÒGet some rest. YouÕre exhausted,Ó he said, squeezing SamÕs shoulder gently, and without a word the younger man climbed under the blankets and closed his red rimmed eyes.

 

Dean blew out a long breath as he sat in the chair by the table, exhausted himself, watching his brother until he knew he was asleep, then stood and moved to the other bed. He removed all of the items heÕd bought, piling everything on the table, then stripped down to his boxers and crawled gratefully into bed himself.

 

It was full dark out when he was awakened by the mattress dipping next to him, where he lay on his side. He blinked open sleep heavy eyes to see Sam, illuminated by the neon glow of the hotel sign through the thin curtains, slip under the blankets, laying to face Dean.

 

There was silence as they looked at one another, the heat of SamÕs body making Dean ache to reach out and touch r11; four long years since theyÕd shared a bed and it all came crashing back like it was yesterday r11; the memories of bare skin and limbs entwined. But all of that was in the past now, so Dean curled his fingers into a fist instead, until he felt the brush of SamÕs fingers against his hand.

 

ÒI never meant to hurt you,Ó Sam whispered brokenly.

 

It took a moment for Dean to find his voice, but when he did he couldnÕt disguise the hurt. ÒYou did.Ó

 

ÒIÕm sorryÉÓ

 

Ò _Why_ , Sam? Why did you keep that from me?Ó

 

Sam took a breath, released it slowly. ÒI wanted to tell you as soon as I got the letter,Ó he began. ÒBut then I thought about it. About the two of us, and I decided to turn it down because I wanted to stay with you.Ó

 

He looked away from Dean. ÒBut then a couple of weeks went by and my friends at school were all talking about going away to college, about finally getting away from their parents and living their own lives.Ó

 

Sam swallowed and met DeanÕs gaze again. ÒAnd I realized deep down that I wanted that, too. That I hated the hunting and I wanted to choose for myself what I wanted to do with my life, not be forced into one by DadÕs decision. But I was so afraid youÕd hate me for wanting to leave that I kept putting off saying anything until I couldnÕt any longer.Ó He paused, dropping his head, voice catching. ÒAnd I ended up making you hate me anyway.Ó

 

Dean shook his head. ÒI never hated you, Sam. I was angry and hurt, but I didnÕt hate you. Underneath it all I was proud of you.Ó

 

SamÕs head came up, brow furrowed. ÒWhat?Ó

 

ÒSam, I knew you hated hunting, the life we lived, that you wanted to do your own thing. And I wanted you to. It wasnÕt too late for you. Me, I was the oldest. I had to help Dad. I had to be what he needed me to be. And if that was a soldier to him and a parent to youÉwell, pretty soon I just embraced it. I was good at hunting and soon I didnÕt know how to do anything else.Ó

 

Dean did reach out now, resting his hand on SamÕs chest. ÒBut you r11; you were still young enough to live a different life, and the fact that youÕd gotten yourself a full scholarship r11; I was so fucking proud of you. It wouldÕve been the hardest thing IÕd ever done, letting you go, watching as you left for Stanford, but we couldÕve made it work between us. I wouldÕve visited as often as I could, called youÉÓ Dean trailed off for a moment, dropping his hand from SamÕs chest, hurt creeping back into his voice.

 

ÒBut the fact that you did it all in secret, like you felt you couldnÕt trust me with this r11; thatÕs what hurt so bad. And thatÕs why I never returned your calls or came to see you. If you kept that from me for months, what other secrets would you keep from me? I was laid bare with you, Sam. IÕd never been that open or vulnerable with anyone in my life. We shared everything with each other all our lives. You never lied to me. I couldnÕt trust you anymoreÉso I let you go.Ó

 

There was anguish in SamÕs voice. ÒThis is all my fault r11;Ò 

 

ÒNo, itÕs both of ours. You shouldÕve told me and I shouldÕve stopped to listen to your explanation. We both made mistakes, made assumptions that were wrong.Ó

 

Sam sighed sadly. ÒAnd we lost four years because of it.Ó He reached out and curled his fingers around DeanÕs wrist, pinning Dean with intense hazel eyes. ÒBut I never stopped loving you, Dean. I waited for you. At Stanford. For the first six months I was there I kept thinking IÕd see you out of the corner of my eye, kept checking my phone for messages, hoping youÕd finally call me. But two years went byÉand I knew you werenÕt coming. That IÕd hurt you too badly. Six months later I met JessÉÓ

 

SamÕs voice broke and he took a second before he continued, fingers gently squeezing DeanÕs wrist.

 

ÒBut I need you to know that even though I loved her, she only had a small part of my heart. I could never give her anymore than that because youÉÓ Sam pulled on the material of the shirt he was wearing. ÒÉyou would always have the rest,Ó he finished with a ragged whisper.

 

Dean looked down r11; to see that Sam was wearing the Marvin shirt.

 

ÒSam, I r11; I donÕt know what I was thinking. I didnÕt mean anything by itÉÓ

 

SamÕs fingers caressed the inside of DeanÕs wrist, sending a shiver up DeanÕs arm. ÒIÕm hoping it means you still love me,Ó he whispered hesitantly.

 

DeanÕs breath caught in his chest and his throat threatened to close up. ÒI never stopped.Ó

 

Sam swallowed hard at DeanÕs answer. ÒSeeing you again. JessÕs death. I donÕt know how I should be feeling anymore. ItÕs all mixed up in my head.Ó

 

ÒItÕs okay, Sam. I understand,Ó Dean said softly. ÒJustÉIÕm here. Whatever you need, IÕm here.Ó

 

He saw SamÕs eyes fill with tears. ÒCould you just r11; Ò he reached for Dean and Dean pulled him close, their bodies fitting together like a familiar jigsaw puzzle. 

 

ÒGod, yeah, Sam, cÕmere.Ó

 

As Sam moved closer, their faces just inches apart, time seemed to slow down, DeanÕs heart clenching at having Sam in his arms again. Their eyes met and without a word they met in the middle, for a soft, lingering kiss. 

 

ÒI missed you,Ó Dean breathed when they moved apart.

 

Sam smiled and laid his head on DeanÕs chest, wrapping an arm around him, fingers warm against DeanÕs bare skin.

 

Dean didnÕt know what the future held for them, if they could get back to what they had so many years ago, but they were together again, and the healing process had begun for them both r11; and for now, that was enough.

 

**THE END**


End file.
